He Knew
by jabjab101
Summary: The voices beckoned him downwards, and he had to follow, fearing the worst, knowing yet never knowing...


He knew.

He knew of the things below. He heard the thumping, in the few hours he was allowed sleep. He heard them, like pale ghosts, below the kilometres of iron and stone. He had asked his brothers of the sounds, but they only told him to ignore it, that they could hear no sounds.

But the sounds demanded to be heard.

It was a soft, faint thumping, like a throbbing wound below a hundred bed sheets. He did not know what made the noises, and that scared him. He was taught not to be scared. If his brothers found out, they would surely beat him.

So one night, when his brothers were asleep, unknowing of the thing that lay below their beds, he crept out of the chambers with his lantern, feeling the sickly touch of the atrocity he was committing, throbbing like a symphony against the thumping below his walking feet.

The corridors were damp and cold, no lights to light them and no fires to warm them. There were no friends to be had in these places, and the sound had grown in his ears like a tumour. That's when he found the stairs.

They went down further than he could see, into the point of perspective and beyond, shafts of air whipping his face unlovingly. The sounds beckoned him down. He felt like falling, and reaching the bottom in an instant, and for a while the idea was appealing. But for whatever reason, he decided on walking.

The thumping was clearer, and became louder each time he touched the next step down. It was pulling at his mind, soft and tender at first, but later would grow more violent and abusing, making his ears pour blood onto his nightshirt. In the end, the thought of finishing it quickly surfaced, and he saw the reason, and let himself fall.

The time of eons went by in those few seconds before the ground came up to meet him with hard, unwelcoming arms.

When he awoke, he was unsure what was his, for he felt his body in puddles on the floor and specks on the walls. He was able to stand up, and behold the thing.

It was as impassive as a mountain, as fixed in place as a pillar, and as unbreakable as a lock. He tried with every last muscle in his body to knock it over, to push it out of the way and to blast it to nothing, so he could reach the sounds behind it, which was now no longer a sound, but was everything he ever knew.

After he had broken all his bones and torn all his muscles, he rested his withered arms on the obstacle, numb to the pain, and wept. It was then that he felt the warmth under the layers of metal, when he discovered it for what it was, and looked it deep into its eyes.

It was alive, a servant, one who had failed and had been denied from the brotherhood. It's armour was that of demigods.

It had been charged, eons ago, with the eternal duty to guard the chamber. It would allow no one, it explained, to enter.

He heard the sounds. Behind the immobile guardian, he heard the sounds. They threw down everything that he had been taught was true. They screeched things into his bloodied ears, promising him that they were pure and familiar, screaming that they needed him. He could only guess what foul purpose he was needed for.

And then he knew.

He had done all these things, endured everything, and sacrificed everything, not to give in to their promises, and obey their commands. He had done this to find out, once and for all, what _they_ were. And do whatever it took to stop them.

He told this to the keeper of the door, who said,

"I hear not the sounds, for maybe I have grown used to their presence, but if what you say is true, then I am already damned. If that is the case, I am no longer fit to preform my duty; to guard this place," and, after he had died, said, "You may enter,"

Finally unobstructed, he touched the door, but it fell apart into dust at his touch. He looked into the square hole of darkness.

Once again, he was afraid.

He walked in.

The sounds were killed dead.

Silence, heavy and thick, fell from the ceiling and on top of his head. His neck creaked, and threatened to break under the pressure. The utter lack of violent noises was exasperating, and he found himself gasping for breath.

And they were there.

The things that called for him stood before him.

And he was no longer afraid, because he saw what they were.

Their story played out in front of him like a memory, everything a ghostly echo of the past. They phantoms to his eyes, fighting over a blighting thing, a spiteful object that was corruption incarnate. They grappled at each other for its possession, even though they were brothers. Then, one stood triumphant, and the spite enveloped him. He had become a hateful thing, and through him horrible shadows and beasts prowled through. The others had regained their senses, realising his treachery, their grave mistake, firing down the daemons with as much hate they had had now for themselves.

The evil thing, spent, slipped back into nothing, taking its brothers with it. All but one willingly walked through towards their damned fate. He turned and faced his audience. His voice damp with sorrow and self-loathing, said,

"We called, and you answered. You have seen what our fate was, and you will now carry our message.

Tell our brothers that we did not fight in vain. Through our weakness we threatened to bring us all down, but we resisted it, and triumphed. Tell them that were tainted, but we redeemed ourselves from our hearts, in hope that we will be redeemed in theirs. Please. Ask them to forgive us. We are sorry…"

The apparition faded away.

"...we are so sorry…"

The room melted into an empty shadow.

He did not fully understand what they had done, but it had been something terrible, something that they tried to forgive themselves over, and feared that others would never forgive them. Such was their sorrow and guilt that it had sustained their souls, and forced them to relive every agonising moment in their minds and hearts over and over again. But…now was their first and last hope.

He walked back to the stairway, flying forwards with each step, the spirits of the unforgiven pushing him up to the light just as they had been pushing him down into the darkness. Their voices were no longer around him.

They were within him.

And he would not let them be dishonoured any longer, those souls in torment below, unseen in the darkness. He had been given the truth, and he would bring it to the light. He swore that his long dead brothers would be forgiven. He knew they would.

He knew.


End file.
